Write Me Some Sanity

Write me some sanity
as a sonnet of stirring passions and noble ideals,
to restore my faith that there is more to humanity
than the brutal chases for gold leaving a trail of suffering.

So I can stop dreaming of knives to vent my anger,
forget visions of machine guns smoking from use
and bombs exploding in the night in homes of tyrants,
just pen me something filled with to tale of care
magically ending the stupidity of the maniacs in this world
who pretend to love everyone
while plotting to kill you with their lies.

Driving down the road in my head,
feeling as if white knuckles were grasping a steering wheel
while thinking of all the crap getting dump on life everyday.

All the murderers of dreams
getting rich on other’s misery,
burying the wounded in a file cabinet of statistics
they say is where their plans for help
are stored to save the world.

How all the knights have fallen we saw as legends,
with crusaders of justice gone to the mall
to shop for victories they can buy as trophies.

In the midst of the lunacy we survive,
asking why this demented sickness prospers?

Then in a moment, some pause in the rage,
seeing a flower miraculously thrive among the garbage,
it isn’t deliverance or utopia,
but reminds that the Lord
can always blossom hope
within the ruins of our plans.

Subtle Discrepancies

Write me a song so sail to the moon,
then swim in a stream of stardust sparkles
far away from the cracks in the earth.

I want to see the world
as a field waiting for spring,
every face one shining with possibilities,
so don’t only expose my eyes to the scars
that ruin my view of what can be,
destroying the trust in dreams.

Because I can see that in the mirror,
remember it when the night conjured fears,
let me find the beauty in each heart
and the splendor in every sight.

For truth isn’t always bittersweet,
nor does it force the need to only see ugliness
because I can gaze into the imperfections,
still able to find the gold within,
tarnished souls might have their flaws,
but they still have silver too.

Hope is the vision that isn’t blind to reality,
can notice all the subtle discrepancies
between our passions and our mistakes,
but with glasses of love
notice the good in the bad,
knowing it is better to heal and inspire
than condemn as trash
what contradicts the wishes
to be more than a fractured life.

The Object Of My Passion

I’ve tried so many ways and thoughts,
to abandoned my first love,
can’t survive through a single day
without that fiery craving gnawing,
driving me utterly insane,
forced to return to that honey,
my heart always feeling the intense rush,
such an exquisite high reviving my life,
once I surrender again so completely,
unto the object of my passions.

Then I languish for a while in the torment of guilt
that I ever was unfaithful to this perfect encounter,
wandering around thinking another lover
would ever bring me any true satisfaction.

Eventually, in such burden of shame,
do I return to the place we first meet,
always so relieved that I am accepted again.

How I drool at the thought of being reunited
anxiously ravished by anticipation,
nearly sick at my stomach from the wait,
before we are one again.

There is no moment more intense for me
than when I repeat the pleasure we have shared,
it brings me an inexorable rhapsody,
placing my lips upon the smooth flesh of my companion,
one kiss of gratitude,
whispering in pure unequalled joy,
“thank you diet coke!”

Thought for the week: "When do they give us go signs to match all the stop ones?

ROLLING THE DICE

Tossing the future,
no cares for the risk
winner claims ecstasy,
its thunder makes you live!

Waiting your turn
boiling with anticipation
hands hold that dream,
lusting for gold,
biting that burger
ignoring the cholesterol.

THE IDEAL MARRIAGE?

Melvin longed for the perfect wife,
dating scene sucked,
first marriage went to crapper,
his spouse couldn’t say no to anyone,
so he ordered a bride
from cyber dream match site,
even had special models
so kids came who would behave.

But too late he discovered
only a woman was brilliant enough
to design this computer masterpiece,
which included a voice box he couldn’t shut off,
reminding him of his every shortcoming.

Now he’s trying to figure
some way to disconnect that part,
just too addicted to her as mate
since her model came with extra deluxe
vibrator pleasure options
and nothing was worth
giving up those nights
for the solitude substitute thrills of his right hand.

Is This Still Planet Earth?

I went for my usual bicycle ride
down my favorite bike path,
but I wondered on this day,
did I somehow pass into another world?

There was this guy dressed like GI Joe out in a field
who was hitting golf balls with a tennis racket,
screaming Eureka and talking to people
that weren’t there.

Then I came across a stuffed teddy bear
sitting by side of the road
with a beer can in its paw,
next to a sign that said no littering,
glad at least it wasn’t dancing!

Road past this gal dressed as a mummy
that was jogging the other way
had on a pair of headphones
with an antenna in her hair,
she was singing Christmas Carols.

Oh the ride seemed to get more demented
the longer I pedaled,
encountering more and more insane people,
acting strange and peculiar.

Heard on my walkman
about the outbreak of the Swine Flu
can’t say it was the cause,
but next time I’m on that trail
think I’m taking a camera
because nobody going to believe
this wasn’t made up
or the result of bottle water
that I carry with me
somehow going bad.

Without Concrete

The bistro was my culinary chapel,
its sacred entrees the salvation
from the demons of salmonella and botulism.

Their menu my gourmet gospel,
how that ambrosia slid so succulently
down my worshipper’s throat
after swallowing those heavenly textures,
which had aroused and enticed with rapturous delight
while in my mouth’s salivating juices.

Suddenly one noon they were closed
in honor of ptomaine awareness day,
I felt lost, utterly panicked,
worried some villainous germs wound attack,
rendering me diseased and insane
should I dare to sample any other morsel
than the ones they said preserved my life.

Wandering in a daze
to a place without concrete,
finding a bush filled with berries
unable to resist my urge and devouring my fill,
but still fearing death would come,
closing my eyes to bid life farewell,
then so elated when the chef reaper didn’t visit.

Days came and my hunger for that fruit
drove me as a wild beast
back for another meal.

Walking past the bistro,
shocked to see that the health department
had closed it permanently.

But I didn’t feel any sadness
for my burgeoning pioneer soul
as I chanted joy over my new hope,
oh sweet liberty of forbidden flavors
that my phobia pallet had feared to taste.

PASSING THE HAT

Failed factories turned into a rusting silent cave,
former workers dragged screaming into a grave.
Unemployed and homeless man sleeping in his car,
freezing without a heater behind a burned out bar.

The money vultures still finding ways to get fat,
feasting off the poor they see as a vulnerable tasty rat,
crushing the hopes of needy with a liar’s baseball bat,
collecting their brains for food they pass around in a hat.

In the private plush domains of greed’s every dark palace,
they plot with cannibal passions another act of malice,
toasting their success with victim’s blood in a green chalice,
sitting on their bags of gold so cold and utterly callous.

Lifeblood of economy being sucked so very dry,
by the profit vampires who never hear a single cry,
happily devouring extra portions of the American pie,
ignoring the slaughtered lives while jetting in the sky.

Meanwhile the country’s fiscal health slips down the drain
with politicians singing their trust me off key refrain
adding new taxes to pad their pockets like they were rain
while the wounds they create cause working class only pain.

Ghosts of the sacrificed lingering at the business tomb,
eyes seen at night by a power broker in the bedroom,
using a lack of conscience as denial’s cleaning broom,
blissfully counting coins to neglect a sense of doom.

Democracy’s coffers turned into a mint mean for a few,
only existing for the wealthy to be soak up like a dew,
in their darkness of transients they still want their due,
as they butcher help like cattle for their avarice stew.

Swimmer's Ear

The lake’s black surface
so cool and calm,
hiding secrets
about piranha,
mentioned on a sign
noticed behind a bush.

Watching swimmers
naively approaching the waters,
inner joust of passions
decides if they’ll be bait.

Refrigerator Magnetic Sayings

All those cute and clever quotes
placed as wisdom on my ice box,
in a variety of bright colors
shaped in so many fanciful forms.

Oh I look at them with diligent devotion
each time I open that refrigerator door,
love the one with that demon marshmallow
reminding me of sugar’s evil.

Even take a moment to glace
at the little weight lifting gnome
who sign says, “you don’t need that!”

They are all so inspirational
something to use as motivation for a vow,
while snacking on an ice cream sandwich
or cold pizza from last night’s dinner.

Someday I know I’ll take their advice
shed this junk food addiction,
replace that sweet candied succulence
with something honestly nutritious.

Meanwhile, I just keep changing
all those magnetic sayings,
because the new ones take time
before their words
start getting on my nerves.

Thought for the week: "Would seasons be better if we added more condiments?"

Candy

Tell me tales of sugary fancy,
let me savor its every syrupy word,
for I might know it’s not good for my health,
but the fleeting pleasure is so delicious
going down the throat much smoother
than that sustenance tainted by textures
lacking the same thrill,
even if they honestly have a medicinal benefit.

So send the chocolate seller into my life
with his seductive tongue,
I’ll keep on acting as though I want to only shop
at a health food store.
Don’t shuffle me off to the place
where produce is offered that truly sustains
because I lust for the sweet taste of candy
knowing it will make me happy,
even if later my body suffers from the choice.

Then after my body has declined
I’ll raise a voice against the delusion
let ire rise against the wrong
feeling so righteous for my rage.

How the mind craves in fickle whim
wanting to know what is real,
yet quickly hungering with desire
what I can taste from honeyed flavor,
no matter if it corrupts and corrodes.

Though I might revile the treachery
of those who make such treats,
when I stir my own batch,
to serve to self and others,
somehow I convince myself
it all was worthwhile
since I made others happy,
which is more important
than if what is prepared actually helps.

CALENDARS

I keep changing the month’s pages,
expecting they will also transform
this life where I dwell
and let what lies in ruins
just fade and disappear.

Allow those ghosts
who visit in my head
to stop returning every night
with memories I want to forget.

Grant me breath to exhale
all the mistakes that haunt my day,
and arise to a future for my heart
where what I remember
is not a prison or hospital.

Then walk without despair
before the light of a new morn
with eyes not fixed in gazes upon the past,
able to write upon my calendar
in words alive in love and expectancy
every hope that I have lost
or left abandoned on the doorstep of my mind.

Have dreams again that died yesterday
make this a beginning
beyond the places I have been,
stripping away those old rags of thought
for a wardrobe that will dressed my soul
in joys I use to discard as worn out rags.

If the first impression matters

If the first impression matters, can you have amnesia till I practice enough
so the first one you remember is the one I meant?

If the first impression matters, do you have an air brush for your mind?

If the first impressions matters, somebody forget to tell God.

If the first impression matters, then would we spent four years regretting election results?

If the first impression matters, I close my eyes until you are ready.

If the first impression matters, then love will always erase any mistakes.

If the first impression matters, then perfected lies last longer than flawed honesty.

If the first impression matters, where is the costume store for your heart?

If the first impression matters, can I do it by telephone or email?

A Party Of Hearts

It was the biggest Halloween party anyone could remember
a festive costume event of the most gala proportions,
Sabir arrived in his immaculate wolf’s attire complete with authentic fur
only to discover two other wolf’s were there,
one still wearing a price tag, his outfit appearing silly and ratty,
the other had a wolf’s head on a gorilla costume’s body.

Hafsa came in her cute and adorable Red Riding Hood Dress
got some envious looks from Little Bo Beep and Cinderella.

Oh the party slowly went a tad strange when they all drank to much apple cider
as the Three Little Pigs got into a fight with the wolf having a price tag
and then the Gingerbread Man fenced with the other wolf using caramel apples
over the attentions of Snow White.

Soon the whole crowd were taking sides and rooting for a champion
chaos rules as Peter Pan and Dracula got into a tag team wrestling match
with Frankenstein clad purple leotards and Batman wearing green swim fins.

While all were getting more and more deranged
Sabir noticed Hafsa and strolled over to offer her some cookies,
she saw the light in his eyes that no disguise could extinguish,
before long the insanity was forgotten as they started a party of hearts,
leaving together, hand in hand, as police arrived to end the lunacy.

MY COOKIE JAR

I keep my rainbows in a jar,
my stars are stored there too,
the cookies of my desires,
spellbound snacks I long to consume,
which stay on the shelf
that is only seen after dark.

But the taste lingers throughout the day,
each thought of better,
every want that my heart craves
beyond the staples of survival,
remain as a flavor I imagine so vividly.

And in the moments of quiet,
when the light doesn’t reveal
all the bridges that I can touch,
my hands reach out to try and find a way
to hold the pastries of my mind.

It doesn’t satisfy my appetite
as a real bite would do,
still the hunger keeps me looking
for a bakery where that can be claimed.

Because as long as I continue to seek
then I know I’m not going to quit
believing someday is not an excuse
to let my cookies crumble,
it is the oven not yet found,
waiting to serve
what I have yet to eat.

A Tale Of Tails

Divine ears proving to be keener
than they could envision,
for he had been an evangelist
who preached the Puritan life,
but lived as a hound dog,
sleeping with every gal,
that bought is howling sermons.

She earned a living as a fake psychic
claiming to be empowered to see the future
by an Indian Spirit guide,
purring with false visions
when customers stroked her with their gold.

Oh the two fought over souls to plunder
as proverbial cats and dogs.
Then that eternal animal control catcher
snared them in the midst of their prowling.

Now they’re stuck in a karma purgatory
until they learn their lesson
and every day is Thanksgiving
so they will be forced to truly accept each other
being grateful instead of greedy.

His penance is to have a bad case of judgment fleas
while she is must learn to love
the taste of brimstone cat nip.

Only consolation for either
is not being lawyers or politicians
who get to be the turkeys.

TRUE OR FALSE

I like these choices. Makes things rather easy. Because you know that stuff can’t both. Well I know I can’t.

Now with others that can be really strange. I mean with some people you do have to wonder.

Take that Reverend Analbe. Now I do appreciate he does speak to God and all, but he sure can be confusing at times.

I don’t mind except it is hard to really make sense of much he says sometimes. Oh he tries to keep it simple.

Basically everything you like is bad. So that makes it false. And so if you just do the junk that ain’t any fun then that is good.

Wish it was figured in a way that really felt good when you talk to him. I just end up totally confused.

Now for me truth shouldn’t confuse you. I mean it ought to be really easy to recognized. But sure don’t work that way with him.

And that is when I need to like ask him so many questions. See I can understand how like going to a movie is bad, but donuts are good.

I haven’t asked him about jelly beans. Maybe I will wait till I can put some on a donut. Then he will like them I bet.

Yeah, I can hope so. Because man if he says jelly beans are false I’m going to be in big trouble.

But I imagine I can figure a way to help him see them different. Like show him a book about them.

It would be a good book. He’s big on good books. Not sure the ones with jelly beans count though.

Well not in his idea of true or false. Sure does for me. In any case I’m going to like see if I can tell him in a way that makes them all good.

Hmm, maybe a few pictures added would help. Well I can help hoping it will. I mean that would make it so much better.

But with Reverend Analbe no way to know for sure. He’s weird that way. At least to me. And hope it will make sense down the road.

Well before I have to go to heaven. Then I won’t be disappointed.

Thought for the week: "Why don't they give tax deductions for take out? It is taking away."

Thoughts in a flock of sheep

Don’t Panic

It was just a cookbook open to lamb chops, but I’m sure the sheepherder
hasn’t really given up being a vegetarian.

HAZE

He was a legend in the college history department,
a professor with two PHDs.
Feared and respected as a mentor
so many stories circulated about his brilliance,
able to hold students spellbound
with his vivid recounting of some event in time.

Oh the eloquence he possessed,
such an incredible memory for facts and insight,
being so amazing in his presentations
though his tests were always epic in demands,
there was something so satisfying
when you could survive any of his classes.

Age had taken its toll on his reality,
but since he was so accomplished
the university didn’t have the heart to retire him
even after he turned seventy.

Slowly this gifted brain showed signs of fading,
his lectures becoming more and more ramblings,
some voiced concerns to the administration
who gave no serious effort to investigate the problem.

Wasn’t until that day
when his mind clearly was trapped in a permanent demented fog
that we knew it was hopeless,
for he spoke of the civil war being fought
between the North Pole and Africa,
then how there came the Spaghettysburg Address,
which he said was located restaurant in Lincoln Nebraska
where they served Confederate pasta.

Stunned, we endured the hour,
mercifully someone taped his words,
handing it over to the dean.
The rest of the semester we had a substitute prof,
our former instructor apparently retired
where he spent his days
teaching pupils who were not there.

A RIND IS A TERRIBLE THING TO WASTE

The University was sponsoring a campus Saturday barbecue,
but didn’t count on the fraternity who were like Animal House
to secretly spiked all the watermelons with vodka before the big event.

Oh burgers went fine and we mingled with the faculty,
until the melon was passed around and slowly insanity replaced decorum.
Suddenly the chemistry professor started singing the Sound Of Music Theme song,
then the coach of women’s volleyball tried to start a conga line,
staggering bodies and slurred words raged in pure chaos,
next day’s hangover ended future occasions unless the food was guarded,
school paper column making fun with headline, “A Rind Is A Terrible Thing To Waste.”

MULTIPLE CHOICE

Now I have to wonder if this really makes sense on a test. Man it seems kind of unfair to me.

Okay so they let you have different options on a test. Only they don’t let you have the one you want.

Well not and make it the fair. I mean they put it on the test and they if you pick it you are told it is wrong.

Where is the fun in that? I don’t see any. I want them to give me really good choices. I mean ones that make sense.

That would be a lot more fair and fun. Just tell me all the options that really work. None of this bogus options business.

Sure would make it a lot saner in my view. Yeah, that really does suck when they toss all those darn choices they just make up.

Really, I want it to be where you get to choose the one that really makes sense and have it be okay too. That will sure make things easier.

Maybe there is some good part to all of this I don’t understand. I am trying to figure out what though.

So far haven’t got it to make sense. Really have tried. I mean all I want is to have it work so I don’t get pissed.

But these darn people who make up these tests are just not reasonable. They really know how to piss me off.

So I guess if that is the goal they succeeded. Not sure why they would be a good thing. Unless they are testing your brain.

Well so far if that is the goal it doesn’t work for me. Really just sucks. I think it is not going to get better either.

So maybe I need to write my own tests. Yeah that would be so cool. I could do that in a way, which I think people would like.

Yeah that would be a good option. Not sure though that I can understand why they won’t let me try.

Maybe I will just take my own tests to those places anyway. Yeah that could be so much better.

Then I can impress them I bet. Hope so.

I THOUGHT I WAS IN HEAVEN

Fruit never tasted better,
my mouth engulfed the blueberry flavor,
so rich and divine, the taste flowing down my throat,
at last I found it in a form that satisfied my guilt
over not eating more of nature’s natural sugar
the way the doctor’s recommended.

But at Baskin and Robbins 31 flavors,
blueberry cheesecake ended my shame,
now and forever I could say with nutritional pride
today I had my fruit (not mentioning cone or cheesecake!)

BLOWING IN THE WIND

Pollution out of control,
air so dangerous to health,
no hope on the horizon,
so desperate scientist came up
with the perfect solution.

Forget the EPA and smog devices,
pointless to try and stop
all that industrial smoke
filling the skies.

Now the world breathes easier
each person having their own
nasal gas mask,
every ready to filter out what is harmful,
walking outdoors again a joy.

Thoughts given to everyone
changing names to Cyrano de Bergerac.
Elephants now the roll model
for plastic surgeons.

Life getting perfect
in its own odiferous way,
who needs dogs to check for drugs any longer
when anyone can smell them
ten miles from any airport?

PLAIN JANE

Now who is this Jane person and what is the big deal about her being plain? I wonder if she is like an airline stewardess?

Guess that is okay. Only not sure why she needs to be famous. Just not really clear on why.

Oh well that is to be expected I guess. All kinds of people seem to get famous for weird reasons.

I’m thinking perhaps she did something cool. Maybe save some lives. That would make her a Miss Hero.

See that is the part that bugs me the most. I mean you have to wonder why they don’t bother to mention it.

Oh well perhaps they like forgot. Yeah it can happen. Somebody just gets busy and before you know it things get missed.

Gee hope they at least gave her a medal. Yeah that would be fair. Or even a nice trophy. It would be nice too.

Hope they took time to get it etched with why. Otherwise somebody might think it was faked.

And that would not be cool. I mean no fun being given some medal and can’t show it off.

Oh well guess with this plain Jane lady she didn’t worry about it much. Now, perhaps they gave her something better.

Yeah there are all kinds of rewards. Not all of them were trophies you put on a shelf. If it were me ones you could eat would be great.

Oh you can be sure I would enjoy it very much. Just a nice coupon to the candy store would work for me.

I wouldn’t care in that case I would be very happy being a plan whoever with a few extra yummies. Can’t say I would get them though.

At least I don’t right now. But I sure wish that was possible. Hmmm maybe I could figure out how to make it work.

Yeah, not asking for a party or anything. Just a few candies. Seems like a reasonable option.

Maybe I need to work on being plain.

THOUGHT FOR THE WEEK: "Is toxic waist when some big guy is filled with too much bad air?

Barbed Wire

I know that fence is a warning,
even though it has spaces between the wires,
just want to touch what is beyond its barrier,
my heart aches in fiery flashes
can’t stand to merely look,
convinced there is ecstasy on the land,
if I can just be there once.

Didn’t work when I got mauled
last time I breached that barbed forbidden,
the soil past its taboo metal thorns
never brought me half the pleasure
to replace the misery of cuts.

Learned a lesson to not try that ground again,
but this one looks so much different,
really isn’t very scenic
not even as appealing as the other earth.

Still that craving can’t be denied,
though I totally accept trying will hurt,
invisible fingers of a grassy siren
are tugging at my mind.

Closing my eyes and grabbing that steel line,
blood gushes from palms
at the moment they hold those tiny spikes,
don’t stop till I can say that my head made it inside
and is breathing that denied air space.

Tomorrow I’ll bandage my wounds,
follow that metal boundary
unto one acre I haven’t tried,
though deep down I know it won’t be different,
guess that is why it was built for cattle
who never stop testing its resistance.

FREE

If today the world stopped having dollar signs
it would truly be chaos at first,
no more paychecks,
and banks closed,
work gone and business discontinued.

Unless we all just agreed
plastic still was good,
then debit and credit cards
would keep things humming along,
absent vending machines and pay phones
or any place that only accepts cash.

Still assuming that fantasy failed,
there would be no debts,
forget the creditors and salesmen,
all you got would be used for trade,
barter the only option.

Aware everyone else is in same situation,
can imagine some sharing of goods in stores
might be a major option
since even the police aren’t likely
to keep serving for free.

Be a time to start over
finding friends to create survival camps,
while figuring out one solution at a time.

Adjusting to a reality totally insane
that you make rationale
with creativity and a whole lot of luck.

MY CHARIOT

It was nineteen seventy one,
I dreamt of a cherry red convertible mustang,
cruising down the highway
with player blaring my eight track tapes
of the Beatles and Moody Blues.

What I got that my step dad had bought
he called, “sensible” and “practical.”
This translated into a nineteen sixty eight
Ford Falcon, two door, hard top.

Oh the radio worked for a few AM stations,
the lights on the dashed sometimes lit up
and the shocks were shot
so it road like being in a boat.

Still I learned to love my wheels
because the freedom it gave,
even if I had no idea
about how engines worked
or all the maintenance required.

When the brakes made that grinding sound,
wasn’t a problem since that emergency handle
still allowed me to stop,
after that didn’t help,
there came the education
on the meaning of the term metal to metal.

As for that pool of water on the ground
just below the engine
it probably came from rain,
even if it did drip
anytime the motor was on.

Oh I quickly I learned about repairs,
learning the terms fuel pumps,
radiator hoses and thermostats.

Yet, in between visits to the mechanic
I found some magic on the street,
just me and my Detroit chariot,
even with rattles and those sounds
coming from under the hood
that ended up warnings
another trip to the repair shop
would be my next trip.

PLAIN BROWN WRAPPERS

Now I’m not sure I like this idea. I mean when I go shopping I enjoy you know if things have labels.

After all what fun is it if you have some cool deal you bought and then can’t show off where you got it. That ain’t any fun.

Which is why if they tell me they want to bag my groceries the store in plain brown wrappers I say no. I want everyone to be impressed.

I will always prefer the chance to show off how well I eat. And the same with those things I but at a mall.

Now I thing is I really don’t like them stores where the run out of their good bags so they give you the crummy paper ones. It happens during sales.

That’s the part that I take care of my own way. I make sure I get extra bag when I shop there.

Oh that can be hard. You know that really is a challenge. Some of those clerks just don’t bother to really let you try.

They will stand there and make sure they watch all you do. Man that sucks. I really hate that part.

I mean is it my fault that they never keep enough in stock? I sure don’t think it is. Well I think they should change that part.

Only they never do. So I just take precautions. Yeah that can be a really chore at times, but I manage.

The tricky part is not getting caught. Yeah that don’t work. They get real mean if they are hording bags.

Well I find ways to avoid that. Which is mainly by causing a distraction. Yeah that really does work most of the time.

Just as long as you can get them to believe that flying saucer you claim to see out the window is really there so they look. Otherwise it fails.

In any case I do have the time to like make sure I don’t mess up. Just don’t want to you know end up with those plain bags.

Might not be a big deal to some. But sure is to me. Yeah you can spend you time looking plan, but not me.
One of those deals I will always think as important.

TAKE THIS

The nurse brings another capsule in small plastic dosage cup,
she has a cold and hard face,
no love nor compassion in her eyes,
“take this,” is all she drones,
doesn’t offer an explanation or seem to care
if I have a clue about will this next pill does
to somehow really improve my condition.

It was more like she had this check off patient list
and at given time had to prove you could still swallow.

I went through the scenario in my head
while recouping in that bed after surgery,
blue ones were for pain and sometimes they almost worked,
green ones were bitter tasting and supposed to help with healthy,
but they make me so sick at my stomach
that I think I would rather stay ill.
Red ones did nothing at all and were hard to swallow,
yellow ones tasted terrible and gave me a very dry throat.

Now white were a different matter all together,
they were like eating chalk and had a hint of wintergreen,
still didn’t feel any different once I took them.

Eventually I realized that there would be no end
unto this parade of or prescriptions until I actually improved.

So despite the pain I worked so hard to look healthy,
smiling and saying I was fine
in order to get released and stop taking this darn tablets,
not to mention also avoid that alleged servings they called food,
which would have really made me so much sicker
if I had dared to eat more than a couple of bites.

Finally my act earn an escape
mercifully the doctor told me regular pain killers would be okay,
leaving the almost house of healing,
happy to know their disgusting medicine pearls
weren’t going to be my companion.

PLAIN YOGURT

Well ever try this stuff? To me it is sort of like wanna be ice cream. Only no where as good.

Yeah I sure don’t look at an option. At least none that want to try. Not any time soon you can be sure about that part.

Now I guess I don’t mind that somebody makes this stuff. Shoot lots of people seem to be happy with weird stuff.

And that is okay unless they decide you need to eat what they like. Then make it sound like the end of the world if you don’t.

Yeah, I’ve seen lots of those types. They like to call themselves gourmets. And that means they know what tastes good.

Well I gave that darn stuff a try once. Man it was anything other than tasty. I mean you can sure tell it wasn’t ice cream.

Now for me I am not motivated to taste it ever again. Shoot one bite convinced me it wasn’t a good option.

And there has to be a few others out there that feel the same way. Really I can’t be the only person with sane taste buds.

Oh well I reckon you have to let weird people eat too. Only wish they would do it somewhere other than in front of me.

Yeah that would be cool if they just like decided to act as if their idea of good was just for them. Seems like a sane choice.

But then I’m learning sane ain’t always the way it works. Lots of really crazy people out there just won’t be happy being themselves.

They can never be satisfied with just taking care of their own stomachs. All they want is to ruin yours too.

At least I have a solution for myself. I just make sure I have ice cream around when I see those people.

Yeah, that is the way I get by. I take the time to be sure I put some in one of those cups when they are not looking.

Then just eat it and act like it is okay. Oh some don’t like the fact perhaps. However, I think my stomach deserves better.

And that is what counts.

Thought for the week: "How come they say, my fellow Americans? Do only guys have ears now?"